Tomorrow
by selanfene
Summary: One shot Jack and Race. Basically discussing the future. Personally, I'm fairly proud of this one, even though it's fairly short. Took an amazingly long time to write for its length. PLEASE R&R. an' yeah.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. Simple as that.**

**Author's Note: I wrote this one night before I went to bed, mostly. The rest I did in a few spare minutes I had between classes at school. Enjoy and please review. Yeah, it's a one-shot.**

TOMORROW

Jack Kelly was, as usual, last into the Newsboys Lodging House for the night. Raking his hair away from his face with one hand, the teenage boy flipped Kloppman a penny without fully stopping. "Hey, Kloppman, I think I's gonna take a walk in a li'l while. Do me a favor an' don't lock up t'night?"

"I dunno, Cowboy, I hafta lock up at eleven..." the old man was obviously angling for a bribe.

With a sigh, Jack flipped him another penny. "'Case ya didn't notice it's past eleven already. But here. That do it? Cuz I ain't got no more to give ya."

"Liar. But I'll do it. 'S on yer head if anyt'in' happens, boy."

"Yeah, yeah..." Francis Sullivan, alias Jack Kelly and fondly known to his fellow newsies as Cowboy, went upstairs, where he discovered most of the others getting ready for bed. The faces were all of the usual suspects, nobody new—but one was missing.

Grabbing the muscular boy's shoulder as he passed, Jack asked Mush about the missing face.

"Seen Racetrack?"

"Nah, now's ya mention it... Probably couldn't pay da penny t'day. Gamblin' ain't good pay, y'know?"

"I know. I's gonna go look fer Race. I might be late."

Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins felt a foot nudge his back. "Nnnngh... go 'way. I's sleepin', cain'tcha tell?" He was curled up in the alley by the Newsboy's Loding House with his hat pulled over his face. The foot nudged again. "God damn it, _what_? This betta be impoahtant—bettah tell me I'm on fiah, or deah was a mistake at da tracks t'day an' I actually won or somet'in', coz I needs my sleep. And yer gettin' me all dirty, I'll bet."

"You'll bet on anyt'in', Race, even if it ain't likely," said Jack's voice. "Now you get up. Le's walk. Den I'll pay fer ya to spend da night inside, I made a real good haul t'day."

"Jack! Heya, boy! Ya shouldn't pay, I still owe ya two bits from da udda day." Race took Jack's extended hand to help him up. Dusting off the seat of his pants, he added, "Well, nuttin' to us, okay? I'll pay ya t'marra..."

"Sure ya will. Now c'mon, le's walk."

The two boys walked in silence for several blocks, until they reached the sidewalk outside Irving Hall. Jack stopped there.

"Ya know, Race, someday dis'll all be ovah. Da strike, I means. What's ya gonna do afta? Do ya know yet?" Jack looked up at the lit sign above the entrance to the theatre, waiting for his friend to answer.

"Well, I's plannin' ta keep on goin' like always, why?"

"Hm. Don't t'ink yer gonna grow outta sellin' da papers? Don't wanna move on ta somet'in'... _bigga_? Me, I'm leavin'."

"Santa Fe, I know," said Racetrack. He'd heard this one too many times. Santa Fe this, Santa Fe that. He'd never really talked to Jack about the future beyond Jack's buying a ticket to Santa Fe, though.

"I's gonna be eighteen befoah too long, Racetrack. I's gettin' old fer sellin' papes. I wanna go out west an' try my hand at somet'in' else. Don't you have any dreams ta do anyt'in' _moah _den what ya can do heah?"

"Deah ain't nuttin' _moah _fer a guy like me ta do in da city."

"So leave. Ya can come ta Santa Fe wit' me if ya likes. I ain't got nuttin' against comp'ny. But even if ya stay, deah's still da fact'ry. It pays better'n sellin' papes, anyway."

"But I don't want ta work at a fact'ry. I likes newsboyin' betta." Race looked up at the "Medda the Swedish Meadowlark" sign, wondering what made Jack so curious about his future all of a sudden. "I guess when it really comes down ta it, I ain't thought none 'bout da future."

"Well, um, Race... if ya want, you really _can _come ta Santa Fe wit' me." Jack seemed on the edge of syaing more, so Racetrack waited. "I's... um, I'd like ya ta come." This time Jack shrugged uncomfortably. "Sure, I wanna git far away from heah, but I's... kinda scared ta go alone."

"Scared of tryin' ta make a enw staht all alone?" Race suggested.

"Nah, not so much da staht, I figures it can't be a helluva lot worse'n heah, if at all. Deah's gotta be opportunities fer a guy like me in Santa Fe. Moah scared of... what might happen ta you'se guys." Jack was thoroughly uncomfortable with spilling his heart like this, even to a friend as close as Racetrack was. An awkward silence stretched for several minutes.

"Well, uh, Cowboy, dis is _yer _dream, not mine, y'know. I ain't really inta goin' ta Santa Fe. I figures it's a big city'n it can't be much betta den New York, just... warmah. Ya gotta do dis or not do dis, but if ya do it, ya gotta _really _do it. Eithah ya don't leave or ya don't take any of _us _wit' ya. Ya can't half-ass dis one."

"I don't t'ink dat's right." 

"I could be wrong, but dat's how I sees it."

There was a long pause. Both boys stood, facing the theatre, waiting for the other one to say something. Jack seemed deep in thought, but Race was just standing, idly fiddling with his vest, trying not to shift his weight from foot to foot. Suddenly, Jack snapped out of his reverie.

"Racetrack..." the taller boy stepped back from Irving Hall and started to walk again.

"Yeah?" Race followed him.

"I guess yer right."

"Always am," the short Irish-Italian punched his friend lightly on the arm. "But what 'bout it?"

"I's getting' out soon as I can, and not takin' nobody wit' me. I's gonna do whatevah I gotta do ta get out. If..." his voice trailed off and his pace quickened. Racetrack couldn't' tell for sure—he'd never been there before—but he thought they were now heading in the general direction of the Jacobs' apartment. Jack was obviously struggling with that he was trying to say. It seemed to be that he didn't want to say it but knew he had to. Kind of as if he was about to say something that woiuld require him to admit something painful or make a painful supposition.

"Cowboy? You still deah?"

"Oh... um, yeah, sorry. If I's gotta do somet'in' dat seems like I's... I dunno, betrayin' anybody, don't t'ink I's really betrayin' anybody. I won't nevah really betray you'se guys. But I might gotta do some t'ings dat'll seem like it ta get ta Santa Fe."

"Yeah?"

"Well, like ya said, dis is my dream. I ain't givin' up. I t'ink it'll be good fer me. An' I t'ink it'd be good fer ya to git some ideas fer da future." Jack shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

"Say, why's ya so int'ersted in da future all of a sudden?" Race asked. Beyond his dream to move to Santa Fe, Jack had never seemed interested in the future before that night.

"I dunno, it's just... well, when I was a kid, befoah me faddah went ta da state pen, an' befoah me muddah died, Faddah told me ya nevah know what t'marra's gonna bring. Now look wheah he is. I guess I never really t'ought much 'bout it befoah, but a few days ago I got ta really t'inkin' 'bout it. I kinda figures I don't wanna end up in da pen like me faddah, so I's gotta make plans, y'know? Like, he ain't planned a t'ing in his life, an' now he's got him in da slammah. I's not gonna end up like dat, no mattah what. I'd raddah die."

Race nodded—he sort of understood. Why Jack had begun to think of the future _now_, he hadn't the faintest inkling of an idea. But the reasoning made sense. He said, "My faddah didn't leave me wit' dat sense of ambition. Well, ya knows what happened wit' mine, I's told ya befoah, I t'ink. But he didn't make me wanna plan me life. Da man was all plan, he nevah did nuttin', just made plans ta do it. He said someday he'd leave da fact'ry an' get a high-payin' job doin' somet'in' worthwhile. Instead, he stayed at da fact'ry till dey fiahed him, den he stayed home and got drunk every day. Eventually he got himself killed by a gang, an' dere went all his plans. I don't wanna end up dead befoah my time, an' I don't want me kid, if I have any, ta hate me fer plannin' and not doin', so I figures plannin' don't do no good, it's da DOIN' dat mattahs."

Jack and Racetrack walked a few more blocks in silence before either was able to gather thair thoughts properly. During those blocks, Jack turned them around and they began heading back to the Newsboys Lodging House.

"Listen, Race, I's gonna base da rest of my time heah on winnin' da strike, den leavin. I want ya ta know dat dose is my priorities, in dat ordah."

"A'right. An'... Cowboy? I'll try my best ta get somet'in' like a plan. Fer yer sake."

The boys rounded into the lodging house at last. Kloppman had already gone to bed, so Jack tucked a penny in his records book with a note that read "From Racetrack."

The two boys climbed the stairs and prepared for bed in silence. The only words they spoke were "G'night" and "Pass the towel."

Jack Kelly was, as usual, the last to wake in the Newsboys Lodging House int eh morning. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, the teenage boy pushed Kloppman away without really waking. "Kloppman, I's gonna get up soon... Do me a favor an' don't let me sleep all day?"

"I dunno, Cowboy, I already woke ya once..." The old man was obviously angling for a bribe.

Cowboy groaned and thought, _screw this_. He rolled out of bed, saying, "I suppose if I'm gonna buy me a ticket to Santa Fe I'd bettah go finish dis strike."

Anothony "Racetrack" Higgins caught his eye. The two boys smiled slightly.

"Got plans, Race?"


End file.
